Monday, July 18, 2016

I don’t know if
you grew up in a family like mine, but here’s how a typical Thanksgiving went
at our house. My mom was up before the sun to get a humongous turkey in the
oven, and then she spent the entire day in the kitchen, enlisting help from us
kids or other female relatives. She worked toward the big moment when all the
food was transported from the kitchen to the dining table and the feasting
began.

And then, after we
finished stuffing ourselves well beyond the limits of our stomachs, all the men
retired to the living room to watch football on TV. while the women cleared the
table and did the dishes.

Somewhere in my
high school years, I began to notice that there was something wrong with this
picture. How is it that my mom and the women worked themselves ragged all day
on this meal, and then when it was finally over, they got stuck doing the clean-up,
too, while the men just sat around on their duffs watching TV?

After I started
college I became even more aware of gender roles, and I decided that I could no
longer participate in this oppressive system of injustice. That year when I
came home for Thanksgiving, after the meal was over, with a shot of defiance
coursing through my veins, I took a stand.

As the women
scurried about clearing the table and washing the dishes, I retired to the
living room with the men. I thought I’d get some grief for doing this, but no
one seemed to notice or care. So, I sat on the sofa between my brother-in-law
and my uncle with the football game blaring on the TV. And, guess what? In no
time, I was the only one awake.

There I was, basically
alone, watching a game on TV that didn’t interest me in the least, sitting
between a couple of snoring old geezers. All the while I could hear chattering
voices and explosive laughter coming from the kitchen, and I couldn’t stand it.
What were they talking about? What were they laughing about? Enough of this. I
was back in the kitchen before the end of the first quarter.

I decided that I
made my point, to myself if to no one else. I could go with the men, or I could
go with the women. And I went with the women. Not because it was expected of
me, but because it was my choice. And, let’s face it, the women were a lot more
interesting, and a whole lot more fun!

When I read the
story of Martha and Mary, I have flashbacks to my childhood Thanksgivings. Here’s
Martha, scurrying about, waiting on everyone and running herself ragged like a
good woman should. She was doing exactly what was expected of her in that time
and place.

It reminds me of
the second miracle of Jesus recorded by Luke in the 4th chapter. The
story is just two verses long, and it goes like this: After leaving the
synagogue he entered Simon’s house. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was suffering
from a high fever, and they asked him about her. Then he stood over her and
rebuked the fever, and it left her. (And then listen for what comes next)
Immediately she got up and began to serve them. Seriously?

Well, that’s what
was expected of her. Not only was it a gender expectation, but it was also her
house and there were definite cultural hospitality standards.

This was also true
for Mary and Martha, who were hosting the gathering with Jesus in their home.
So, there are layers of expectations at play in this story.

Mary is a woman
after my own heart because she bucks the system. She doesn’t seem to give a
rat’s petutti about expectations. She wants to hear what Jesus has to say.
Jesus is in her house. What an opportunity! She’s not going to waste it in the
kitchen. She’s going to sit at his feet and take in every word he has to say.

Now, in fairness
to Martha, we also need to consider this story from her perspective. She’s
justified to be outraged by her sister’s behavior. Why should she get stuck
doing all the work? Maybe she’d like to sit at Jesus’ feet, too, but somebody
has to serve all the guests. It’s really not fair. She’s hoping Jesus will notice
that and see it her way.

But he doesn’t.
He’s actually a little harsh with her. He says, “Martha, you need to chill.
What your sister Mary is doing is a lot more important than what you’re doing.”
Ouch! Those words had to hurt.

I suppose most of
us can identify with either Martha or Mary in this story. Martha, the one who’s
busy doing, serving, making sure everyone’s taken care of. And Mary, the one
who takes time to be--listening, learning, growing in her relationship with
Jesus. How many Marthas do we have with us today? And how many Marys?

If you were here
last week, you heard the parable that immediately precedes this story of Mary
and Martha in Luke’s narrative -- The Good Samaritan. It’s a story that’s all
about doing, serving, and making sure our neighbor is taken care of. Jesus
praises such behavior.

And then, *boom* we’re in the story of Mary and
Martha, where Jesus praises the one more concerned with being in his presence
than the one who’s doing for others. What gives? Is Jesus talking out of both
sides of his mouth? It’s either important to be out there doing for others, or
it’s important to grow closer to Jesus. So, which is it?

Well, here’s the
deal. The life of faith isn’t an either/or proposition. That’s what we call
dualism. You’re either this or you’re that. You’re either a Martha or you’re a
Mary. You’re either good or you’re bad. You’re either a saint or you’re a
sinner. Jesus was either human or he was divine.

Dualistic thought
gets you into trouble because the life of faith isn’t that simple. It’s not a matter
of either/or. The life of faith is about both/and. It embraces paradox. Jesus
is both human and divine at the same time. We’re both saints and sinners. We’re
both good and bad at once… And we’re both Mary and Martha.

As people of
faith, we long to serve others. We want to help out with Vacation Bible School.
We want to sing in the choir, volunteer during the week. We want to help people
in need in our community. We want to speak for those who have no voice. We want
to stand up for those are being treated unjustly. Following Jesus is all those
things, and we want to be people who do.

But we’re often
inclined to do, do, do, without taking time to be. There is both an outer life
of faith, and an inner life of faith. And in fact, a full life of faith includes
both. If we do, do, do without taking time to go inward, not only do we burn
out, but we lack direction. We spend all our time running from one project to
the next, setting the agenda for our ministry without really taking the time to
listen to what God’s calling us to do.

I felt myself
struggling with that the week before last when our country was experiencing one
senseless violent act after another. More black men were killed by law
enforcement officers. Then in the midst of a peaceful demonstration, a crazy
man opened fire on the police. It was too much. I’ve been so upset and angry
about this stuff that I wanna scream. Enough! Enough! Enough! I can barely
catch my breath and then the horrific violence in Nice, France.

My first thought
is, what can I do? What can I do to make this stop? When I hear people
concluding that all we can do is pray about it, I can’t stand it. We’ve got to
do more than just pray! My Martha comes out big time.

But then, I also
think about how these acts of violence are calling me to go deeper into myself.
How is it that I might also be a part of the problem? How is fear of the other
and racism a part of me? How can I listen to people of color and better
understand their experience? That’s my Mary.

It’s not a matter
of one or the other. The life of faith is both/and. And in fact, the outer life
of doing flows from the inner life of being and vice versa. We act and we
reflect on our action and based on our reflection we act, and it goes back and
forth.

Notice how Jesus was
constantly moving from an outer expression of faith to an inner expression of
faith throughout the gospels. He recognized that he needed to spend time being
in the presence of God. He went inward. And that strengthened him to continue
teaching, healing, and proclaiming God’s reign in the world around him.

I think also about
a central message of John’s gospel where Jesus tells us again and again the
importance of abiding in him. We abide in the vine so that we can bear fruit.

This is certainly true
for us as a congregation, as we move forward. Are we drawing upon both inner
and outer expressions of faith as we strive to fulfill God’s mission for us? If
we neglect one way or the other, we’re not all here. We’re not completely
experiencing all that we can as God’s people.

This is also true
for us as individuals. If you feel like you’re missing something in your faith
life, this may be a key for you. You may be living your faith in an either/or
way—either inwardly or outwardly. And when you do that, something’s definitely
missing.

Strive to live as
a both/and person of faith. Spend time listening to Jesus, sit at his feet,
join him at the table, savor his presence. And follow him into the world,
serving him by serving others. If your natural tendency is to be like Mary,
spend some time cultivating your Martha. If you tend to be more of a Martha
kind of person, don’t neglect your Mary.

In today’s lesson,
Jesus stuck up for Mary. Within his culture, that was necessary. Mary needed
permission to sit at the master’s feet. For us as a congregation, and for you
as individuals, what’s the expectation we bring to the life of faith? If you
expect it to be about doing, give yourself permission to be. If you expect it
to be about basking in the presence of Jesus, give yourself permission to do.

Then you’ll
experience what it means to be all in as a follower of Jesus. You’ll be on your
way to discovering the breadth, the width and the depth of living fully in
Christ.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

I was warned repeatedly about this before I came to
Ascension, Towson, and now that I’m in my first week, I know beyond a doubt
that the warnings were justified!

Before I decided to come here, I’d ask people from the
congregation, “Is there anything else I should know about Ascension if I should
come to serve as your pastor?” Because there always
seem to be a few things in a new congregation that I wish someone had told me
before I started, I had to ask.

So, what was the big cautionary tale at Ascension? “If you’re
crossing the street to get to the church and the light says Walk, don’t trust
it. Wait until the traffic has come to a complete stop before you go.” Really? I couldn’t
imagine how crossing the street to get to the church could be such a big freakin' deal.

The church parking lot is on a very busy street that must be crossed to get to
the building. Years ago, the church had a traffic
light and crosswalk put in. You know, the kind where you press the button to
cross the street and the sign lights up saying, Walk or Don’t Walk. Well, they
were right. When the sign says, Walk, don’t you believe it!

The light turns red and the cars completely ignore it. I’m
not just talking about a few that squeak on by after the light changes. I’m
talking about cars that continue speeding down the street driven by people who are
absolutely oblivious to the fact that there is a traffic light at all. Although
it’s been there for years, they don’t see it!

This morning, I parked my car, went to the crosswalk and
pushed the button. The light turned red and the Walk sign lit up for me to cross. I waited
for the traffic to stop. And it didn’t. It kept going and going so that I wasn’t
sure I’d be able to cross the street at all. Finally, I stepped off the curb and
waved my arms pointing to the red light. Another car whizzed by. Then I started yelling at the cars.
Eventually they stopped. I’ve never seen such a flagrant disregard for a
traffic light in all my life.

As I crossed the street, I thought about how safe my world
usually is. When I leave the house in the morning, I don’t worry about being in
danger. I expect to be unharmed as I cross the street, especially when there
is a traffic light on my side. But when I cross York Rd. to get to Ascension, I
can never let down my guard. I can’t trust the law to keep me safe. It’s scary.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to go through every
moment of every day feeling unsafe, never really sure that the law will
protect me, fearing for my own life and for the lives of people I love. I realized that just a few miles away from me, people were living in such a world.

And then I turned the key in the door to the church building
and I was inside, safely ensconced in an air conditioned office, checking my
email. My brief ordeal crossing York Rd. was all but forgotten and I was enveloped
in the comfort of my privileged life.

Friday, July 1, 2016

Geographically, I now may be located in a town called
Timonium, but spiritually, I’m in liminal space—a place between. When we’re
neither here nor there, standing in the threshold between one room and another,
it’s a liminal space for us. Although this unsettled state can be a bit
unnerving, it also has a beauty of its own, and I’m relishing it.

I’ve taken three weeks vacation between my call to Holy
Trinity, Charlotte, and my call to Ascension, Towson. The first week was hell. I packed my last few boxes and watched the moving company load them all
onto a 24-foot truck. After spending a sleepless night trying to get
comfortable on the floor of an empty house, Pooky, Guido and I drove away from
our old home and toward our new one. It would have been a lovely drive if I had
shared it with traveling companions who appreciated it. Lovely it was not.

For four straight days I ripped open boxes and found a place
for all my stuff. Clothes unpacked, books shelved, pictures hung... in addition
to transplanting some flowers in the yard and painting a room. Four days! And
did I mention I charged up my drill and hung my own curtain rods. I am woman,
hear me rrrroar!

Of course, it would have taken me much longer if I hadn’t
had so much help from the people of Ascension. They were on hand in the
beginning to help me with heavy lifting, putting stuff together and unpacking
my kitchen. And they brought me food. I didn’t have to cook for a week. Not
only was I well fed, but I also saved a lot of time that I would have spent on
preparing meals. What an incredibly caring congregation! Something tells me I’m
not going to have any problem loving them.

So now I have some time to relax and reflect. I’m detached
from the congregation I once served and not yet attached to the one I will soon
begin serving. And I’m not feeling like a pastor. I’m just me. I putter
around the house, I walk around the neighborhood, I explore my foreign surroundings, I read, I cook, I sleep, I
watch TV, .

And I’m praying these days in a way I can’t remember ever praying
before. All the buzzing in my brain that I typically struggle to shut down isn’t
buzzing. I'm not distracted with a list of things I gotta do, people I need to talk with, sermons I need to prepare. In this liminal space, contemplative prayer is easier, it’s freer, it’s
deeper. I don’t know that this will continue after I step into my new life, but
I’m treasuring it now.

Tomorrow company arrives from NY. Gretchen, Jon and Nick are
driving down to see my new place. I’ve never shared a liminal space with them
before. I wonder if they’ll notice the difference as much as I do.

About Me

Nancy is an ordained pastor of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. She serves at Ascension Lutheran Church in Towson, Maryland. Nancy grew up in Hamilton, Ohio, and then served time at Bowling Green State University, before moving on to Trinity Seminary in Columbus. Starting out in North Dakota, she then returned to Ohio and served churches there before landing in North Carolina, where she served at two different congregations in Charlotte. She was also on the bishop's staff and earned a PhD from Pitt during her spare time in the area of religion and education. She considers herself an educator who happens to be a pastor and it makes a difference in how she does ministry. She is a divorce survivor, and the mother of two artsy-fartsy children who abandoned her when they became adults. Now she shares a home with Father Guido Sarducci, her tuxedo cat.